The coffee tastes particularly tasty this morning.
Perhaps it’s because I slumbered only several hours as the mind tossed and turned over the vehicle’s constructs of boxes and contemplated which one if removed and mailed ahead creates the most effective desired result.
And I’m exhausted. The body’s rebelling from any movement following intense endeavors and preparations that’ve kept me nonstop busy and doing 12-14 hours a day.
Bruce Jenner and I have something in common. We both ran marathons!
My body balked at simply stripping the bed for a final laundering and pickup by the buyer in a couple hours.
I hauled two loads of sheets and towels seemingly weighing 500 pounds – in fact only 5 – inserted the quarters in the good washer and pushed the button.
It’s broken! In my semi-stupor, I saw the attached note too late!
One washer for an entire large building. That should work out well! Not.
Larry the landlord should be arriving within days with duct tape.
+ + +
This is the last time to blog from this bed or anywhere else in the apartment.
The bed’s being turned over to Coast Guard Will imminently, followed by TV and Internet equipment to Comcast.
Where will I sleep in these last two nights? Perhaps the trundle bed. I’d take a photo if I had the strength to raise myself and a camera!
It’s a cool setup, that trundle bed, one that FlamingoDancer in particular would find groovy.
Maybe later. One doesn’t see trundle beds much any longer. Really is worth the shot for the novelty.
+ + +
Sounds such as doors being open and shut echo in the apartment. A telltale sign of a beginning of a home or a closure.
It’s a sound with which I’m very much familiar. A sound of home. Empty. A sad sentiment isn’t it.
Apartment G was never right for me. I tried to make it work. God I tried. Just as I tried with everything I gots – and didn’t gots – to secure employment in Tacoma.
August 2008 since my last fulltime employment. I never dreamt such words would come through me.
+ + +
The other day I drove by one of my former residences. Ben was a good guy and I hoped to pay him a visit. A “for sale” sign stood in front of his house.
I can only imagine why he is selling. I’d rather not.
+ + +
I went to John’s house to return a book I’d borrowed a year-plus ago.
The youngish couple lounging on the porch with their rather fluffy husky dog informed me that John had moved.
“He moved to a smaller place, still in Tacoma, up that direction,” he said, waving northward.
+ + +
Sometimes the changes are desired and beneficial and nurturing for the soul.
Sometimes they are depressing, painful and rob one of the soul’s energy and life force.
Regular attentive readers have a gist into which of the two Tacoma falls.
+ + +
I bid you adieu from the comfortable futon in Apartment G.
And if by the past 5-year treacherous journey I am wiser, I am wiser for this:
When it’s time to leave, it’s time to leave. No amount of love can fix the damaged or the damned.
No amount of love can fix what is not meant to be.